


Sweater Weather

by angelicaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex watches him raise his glass to his mouth and - oh, fucking fantastic. He’s staring at his lips now, inhaling just slightly when his tongue darts out to lick across his upper lip. Alex takes in his face instead - fine lines webbing deep brown eyes in a way that Alex finds, well, sexy. His shoulders are broad, too. There’s not an inch left in that suit for him, and Alex thinks he’s got to be tall, too.</p>
<p>Not that it matters, he tells himself again. This guy has to be in his forties. He wouldn’t want anything to do with some 22-year-old fresh out of college - he’s probably a divorcee with kids close to Alex’s age. No. It’s too fucking weird. That doesn’t mean Alex can’t look, though. </p>
<p>Or: Alexander Hamilton (kind of) meets George Washington at a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, I'm not even sure if this technically falls under the definition of a "meet cute." But here you go.

It’s Friday night in D.C. and, well - Alexander Hamilton is not a homebody. No. But tonight? 

Yeah, he sort of wishes he’d stayed in.

For one, he doesn’t necessarily want to be around when Philip Schuyler’s youngest daughter gets busted with her fake ID.

“This?” Peggy says, waving the plastic card inches from Hercules’ face. “Is never going to work.”

“Yeah - and if you say it loud enough for the entire block to hear, you’re definitely not going to get in,” Hercules shoots back without missing a beat. 

Alex glances around the Penn Quarter street corner they’ve been loitering on for nearly ten minutes now. The Schuyler girls and Hercules. No one’s really looked twice at them, but it still kind of feels like a recipe for disaster.

“Where did you even get this?” Peggy demands, flipping the ID around to get another look at the front. “She looks  _nothing_  like-”

“OK, that’s enough,” Angelica finally snaps, pulling a small tube out of her tangerine clutch bag and stepping between her sister and Hercules. Alex watches with mild fascination as she carefully glides the deep berry-colored lipstick across Peggy’s pouted lips. And, yeah - it actually does make her look a couple years older. This  _could_  work. 

He catches Eliza’s eye, and she’s looking like she hasn’t decided whether to be amused or horrified. Alex has only known the Schuylers for about three months now, but he can tell Eliza’s a middle child down to her core. He sees it in the way she follows Angelica’s lead - puts all her faith in her older sister. 

Once Angelica finishes her work, Peggy gives them a little twirl in her silver Jimmy Choo heels that Alex guesses likely cost more than his portion of rent. Eliza looks her up and down, tugs her hair out of her pony tail and brings her curls around to frame her face and then, with a nod of approval from Angelica, it’s go time.

The doorman quirks an eyebrow at Peggy’s ID but ushers her inside anyway, then it’s up a flight of creaky wooden steps to the dimly-lit main floor. Calypso’s attracts patrons of all ages, but it’s still the kind of place bored rich kids go to get their kicks, Alex suspects. Sticky stained floors, the lingering smell of cheap beer, busted pool tables, bathroom stall doors falling off the hinges. It’s far from refined - but the staff is friendly and the booze is cheap, so Alex has never complained.

“Took you long enough!” John calls from across the room almost as soon as they hit the top of the stairs, Lafayette sitting at his side, four cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon between them on the bar. Alex can’t help but grin even as he rolls his eyes, earning himself a little wink from John.

Eliza and Peggy, arms linked and giggling, move to the other side of the bar to order drinks while Angelica makes her way over to Lafayette and Laurens, speaking rapid-fire French and pausing only to order a Stella Artois. They don’t quite look like they belong here, wearing tailored slacks and A-line pastel dresses. Hercules, at least, is wearing a green flannel shirt. Yeah, they’re a little more alike, Alex thinks, looking down at his own outfit - some ill-fitting jeans he found at a thrift store and his Columbia University sweatshirt. 

He takes a seat on one of the open stools next to Lafayette and orders a Yuengling, throwing a couple dollar bills down for the bartender.  A couple drinks, he tells himself, and then he’ll head home. Glancing around the room, no one catches his eye, anyway - too many couples tonight.

“Hey,” Hercules sneaks up behind him and squeezes his shoulders before hopping onto the stool on Alex’s other side. He nods at the bottle of Yunegling. “Is it going to be one of those nights?”

Alex frowns, wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle. “One of what nights?”

Hercules grins. “One of those nights where you and John get drunk and end up fucking.”

Alex glances over his shoulder, makes sure John didn’t hear. But he’s still with Angelica and Lafayette, his laughter carrying over the Bon Jovi track playing over the sound system. “Come on. You know we don’t do that anymore.”

“Right, right. The whole ‘new man in a new city’ thing,” Hercules says, a little too dismissive for Alex’s taste. “You miss New York, man?”

Alex shrugs one shoulder and starts peeling the label off his bottle. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m here now.”

On the other side of the bar Eliza and Peggy clink their shot glasses together, tilting their heads back in unison. Eliza, to her credit, swallows unblinkingly, eyes darting in Angelica’s direction for approval. Peggy grimaces and scrunches her nose. Somewhere behind him, Angelica cheers. 

Hercules arches an eyebrow and shoots him a toothy smirk, and Alex knows what that means. He’s considered it - Angelica and Eliza. Both beautiful girls. Both beautiful,  _rich_ girls. And it’s not that he thinks he doesn’t stand a chance. He’s been around the block a few times - knows girls like the Schuylers love boys like him, a taste of what they lack. When it comes down to it, though, they’re some of the only friends he has in this city - and he earned them through John. He could be the first one to make a move, sure. But he won’t be.

Peggy orders another drink - a Long Island, if Alex had to guess - and, well, he figures that’s not going to settle well. Hercules picks up on it, too, and slides off the stool, circling over to their end of the bar. Alex can’t read lips, but from the impassive look on Peggy’s face he suspects Hercules is delivering a lecture on responsible drinking. Funny, Alex thinks, coming from the man who found her a fake ID in the first place.

He’s still snickering to himself just as his bartender moves out of his line of sight and then - sitting directly across from him on the opposite side of the bar - is…well. He  _does_  look oddly familiar, but Alex can’t quite place his face. At the moment all he can really focus on is the way his large hand encircles his whiskey glass. No wedding ring, he notes. Not that it matters - the Schuyler girls are at least attainable. This guy? No fucking way. Alex doesn’t know much about fashion, but he suspects the price of this man’s suit alone could feed him for a good six months. And, he has a job that’s impressive enough to warrant wearing a suit on a Friday. Yeah, Alex knows that’s not entirely uncommon, but  _still_.

Alex watches him raise his glass to his mouth and - oh, fucking fantastic. He’s staring at his lips now, inhaling just slightly when his tongue darts out to lick across his upper lip. Alex takes in his face instead - fine lines webbing deep brown eyes in a way that Alex finds, well, sexy. His shoulders are broad, too. There’s not an inch left in that suit for him, and Alex thinks he’s got to be tall, too.

_Not that it matters,_ he tells himself again. This guy has to be in his forties. He wouldn’t want anything to do with some 22-year-old fresh out of college - he’s probably a divorcee with kids close to Alex’s age. No. It’s too fucking weird. That doesn’t mean Alex can’t look, though. 

Alex takes a sip of his Yuengling, watching the man out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t look at Alex at all - instead, he’s staring right past him at Angelica and Lafayette. Alex follows his gaze, unsure which of his two friends he’s admiring. Either one would be worthy. Worthier than him. Angelica - tall, slender and enviably elegant, even in this dive. And Lafayette - well, Alex has never met a man or woman who wasn’t immediately charmed by him. Together, he can’t be surprised they pull focus. He shifts on his stool, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. He touches the back of his hair, wondering if he should tug it out of his ponytail. He’d still be wearing this atrocious outfit, though.

After a few minutes, the man goes back to chatting with the bartender, sipping his whiskey slowly and smiling at jokes Alex can’t hear over the music. He can’t help but wonder what this man is doing in a place like this. Wonders if it’s the same reason the girls, John and Lafayette are here. To escape for a night. Every attempt at catching his eye seems to fail miserably - and, seriously, Alex doesn’t think he’s  _that_  invisible -  so when John jabs an elbow in his side and asks him to play a few games of pool, it’s a welcome distraction.

They’re well into their third game when he sees Peggy dart across the room and down the staircase, hand slapped over her mouth. Eliza barely two steps behind her. Angelica’s face falls and, resting her hand briefly on Lafayette’s shoulder, excuses herself and hurries after her sisters. 

“Whoa, is she OK?” John asks, just as Alex puts his beer down on the pool table and follows the girls outside.

He finds Peggy standing in the gutter and vomiting into the street, Angelica at her side holding her Jimmy Choos in one hand and pulling her hair back with the other. 

“The bathroom line was too long,” Eliza explains, nearly stumbling in her own heels. Alex puts a hand on her waist, steadying her. “She couldn’t wait.”

“Should we call a cab?” Alex asks, wincing as Peggy starts to dry heave. “You guys should probably get her home.”

“Let’s take her to my place. I live closer.”

Eliza whirls around and Alex follows - and there’s the man in the suit, standing on the sidewalk, an almost amused twinkle in his eye. Alex’s breath catches in his throat.

“Senator Washington,” Eliza says, standing up a bit straighter.

Alex does a double take. And, fucking finally, their eyes meet. He gives Alex a wry, tight-lipped smile.  _Oh, fuck._

“I didn’t expect to see the Schuyler sisters out tonight.”

“Oh, fuck,” Angelica says. 

* * *

 

George Washington’s brownstone is everything Alex expects. Cozy, yet sophisticated, with four floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the living space, elegant paper-white walls and dark oak wood floors. Alex feels a little uneasy - like he shouldn’t touch anything. 

“You’re not going to tell our dad, are you?” Angelica demands as Eliza helps Peggy sprawl out on the black sectional. Peggy slings an arm over her eyes and groans.

Washington smiles and shakes his head, grabbing a plush throw off the back of the couch and carefully draping it over Peggy’s legs. “You’re all adults. I don’t believe it’s something I need to get involved in. Truthfully, girls, I wouldn’t have said a word to you if - well.” He gestures at Peggy.

Alex’s eyes are still glued to Washington’s face – and, fuck, he’s even more striking when he’s not drenched in Calypso’s shitty lighting. 

“Thank you,” Eliza says, and Alex can tell she’s still a little tipsy, but trying to hide it for Washington’s sake. She falls back into the couch and toes off her heels. “For helping us take care of her.”

Washington disappears into the kitchen and Alex hesitates a moment, wondering if he should follow. Instead, he turns to the senator’s collection of books - reading the titles on the spines but not quite committing them to memory. He notes there are no pictures of family on the walls – no signs he’s ever been married or ever fathered children. Instead, there are only a couple unremarkable landscape paintings and framed diplomas.

He looks over at the girls – Eliza has Peggy’s head in her lap, perfectly manicured fingers combing through her hair. And Angelica, perched on the sectional’s armrest, is speaking quietly with John over the phone.  _“Yeah, yeah. We’re fine. She’s knocked out. She’s OK – yeah, Alex is with us.”_

After a brief internal debate, Alex follows Washington into the kitchen and finds him at the counter tossing ice cubes into four water glasses. An electric kettle bubbles behind him, next to the stove.

“Can I help you with anything?” Alex asks, leaning against the doorframe and suddenly feeling a bit sheepish.

Washington looks at him briefly, his face impassive.

“I think I can manage this,” he answers and Alex nods, looking down at his shoes and clearing his throat. He’s about to turn around and wander back to the living room when –

“I poured you a glass of water,” Washington says. “Would you like something else?”

Alex eyes the electric kettle. “You making tea?”

“Peppermint.” Washington pulls two mugs out of the cabinet, and Alex tries not to stare at the way his suit jacket tightens around his shoulders when he reaches for the top shelf. “I’ll make you a cup. What’s your name, son?”

Alex jerks his chin up at that, sets his jaw and stares at Washington’s back as he busies himself around the kitchen. He turns and looks at Alex expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

“Alexander Hamilton – Alex,” he says, stepping away from the doorframe and extending one hand. Washington grabs it, shakes it firmly, and Alex swears his eyes sweep his frame, look him up and down. Alex brushes a hand down his shirt self-consciously.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington repeats. “George Washington. I wasn’t aware Elizabeth was seeing anyone?”

Alex blinks, then laughs. “Oh – no. It’s nothing like that. We’re just friends. Run in the same circles – sort of. More like my best friend runs in the same circles and I just kind of – yeah. But no. Not dating. Not that she’s – not that I wouldn’t – ”

Washington smiles to himself as he switches off the kettle and pours the water into their tea mugs. Alex stops talking and instead starts chewing on his bottom lip. Washington hands over one of the mugs and he tries not to pull a face when their fingers brush along the handle, even though it makes his entire body feel tingly and overheated. Holy _shit._

“I’m going to call the ladies a cab,” Washington says, putting the glasses of water and his own mug on a tea tray. “Where are you headed? I’ll get yours, too.”

“That’s not really necessary,” Alex says, following him into the living room, unable to help feeling disappointed that the night is already coming to an end. He doesn’t know what the hell he expected to happen. “I’ll just Uber it.”

Alex lingers by the bookshelf, reading the titles again and sipping his tea, half-listening while Angelica and Eliza chat quietly with Washington – mostly boring small talk about their father and people he’s never heard of, but he can tell their relationship is a warm one. Washington doesn’t disclose much, just mentions wanting to try some new restaurant along the Potomac (“it’s lovely,” Angleica assures him) and a trip planned to Virginia, which he refers to as “back home.”

Peggy wakes up and downs her water a few minutes before the cab arrives, and then they’re grabbing purses and shoes, Angelica’s arm wrapped snuggly around Peggy’s waist as Washington walks them to the door.

“Alex? You have a ride?” Eliza calls back, flicking a misplaced strand of hair out of her eyes.

“I’m ordering an Uber,” he says, patting his pockets just as Washington closes and locks the door after them. His heart sinks. “Shit.”

“Everything all right?” Washington asks, picking up the tea tray and carrying it back into the kitchen.

“I left fucking everything at Calypso’s!” he says, setting his mug down and digging his hands deep into both back pockets. “God damn it. My phone, wallet, keys – I don’t have any of it. _Shit._ I must’ve left it on the pool table.”

Alex hears the glasses clatter in the sink and Washington walks back out into the living room, frowning. Great. Now he’s pissed. Washington checks his wristwatch. “They’ll be closing soon. Do you have a roommate who could let you in – ?”

“John’s God knows where,” Alex groans, running both hands over his face. Fucking perfect. “Shit. I’m sorry. We probably ruined your entire night. Look, if you wouldn’t mind calling a cab for me, I can just figure it out. I’ll pay you back – ”

“Alexander,” Washington says around a yawn, bringing up one hand to cover his own mouth and muffle the sound. Alex pauses at the sound of his full name, his body doing that tingly thing again. “It’s almost 2 a.m. I’m not sending you out without your phone this late. You can stay the night – if you’d like. The couch pulls out as a sofa bed.”

“Oh,” Alex says quietly, glancing back at the sectional, because he’s not quite sure where else to look. “I – are you sure?”

Washington shrugs. “It would give me some peace of mind if you’d stay.”

Their eyes lock and something in Washington’s face – nearly inscrutable before – has shifted. Alex isn’t sure what it is, but it’s like he’s looking at him with renewed interest.

Washington finds him a faded blue and orange University of Virginia T-shirt and Alex retreats to the bathroom to change. The shirt is comically large on him, the sleeves going well past his elbows. He tugs off his jeans, decides his boxer shorts aren’t exactly indecent, and washes his face, frowning at the dark circles under his eyes and the faint smell of beer clinging to his hair. _Don’t read into this_ , he tells himself. _This is just a man – almost twice your age – doing you a favor. That’s all._

Alex returns to the living room, his sweatshirt and jeans draped over one arm – and Washington’s changed, too. He’s wearing a dark blue quarter-zip and cotton jersey shorts that cling to his thighs in all the right places and – oh, shit. Alex can’t pull his eyes away – he’s too engrossed in the way Washington’s thigh muscles flex as he wrestles with the sofa bed.

“Thanks,” he says, once the bed is finally pulled out. His throat feels dry. Washington grabs a couple pillows and a throw blanket off his armchair, tosses them onto the bed.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Washington says. “It stays pretty comfortable out here, temperature wise, so I don’t think you’ll need a second blanket.”

He turns to Alex and – he’s smiling. Alex guesses it’s a response to how fucking ridiculous he looks wearing his T-shirt. So, he makes a show of tugging his hair out of his ponytail. He’s not going to read anything into this, no – but that doesn’t mean he can’t play.

“I called Calypso’s just before they closed,” Washington says, and Alex is certain he’s watching Alex’s fingers rake through his hair, tugging out the tangles. “They found your things. The owner’s going to be there in the morning so you should be able to pick them up without a problem.”

Alex blinks. Smiles. “That’s – thank you. You didn’t have to do that. And, yeah – thanks again for everything. I know you don’t really know me…”

Washington shrugs. “Any friend of the Schuyler family is a friend of mine. Now – get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Alex watches him disappear down the hall and into his bedroom, hears the door quietly click shut behind him. He lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding all night – holy _shit._

 

* * *

 

“I guess I should’ve asked if you like coffee before I poured you a mug,” Washington calls from the kitchen the next morning.

Alex is up, folding away the sofa bed. “I _live_ for coffee. Seriously.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“No, just plain,” Alex calls back, folding the blanket Washington let him borrow and draping it back over the armchair before joining him in the kitchen. Washington carefully hands him a steaming mug and Alex brings it up to his nose. “God – that smells incredible.”

“It’s a Cuban coffee. I tend to brew it a bit stronger than most,” Washington warns, watching as Alex takes a sip. “I hope it’s not too much for you.”

Alex swallows. It’s still too hot, burns his throat a bit, but the flavor? It’s perfect. He smiles at Washington - and the senator almost looks relieved. 

They stand in the kitchen, silent as they each sip from their mugs. Washington, in a pair of jeans and a gray long-sleeved cotton shirt, looks like he’s already dressed for the day. Alex knows he’s overstayed his welcome. 

“Well,” he says, taking the final sip of his coffee and setting it on the countertop. He smiles at Washington again and hopes he doesn’t come off as too - what? Hopeful? Expectant? “I’m probably just going to run by Calypso’s and grab my stuff. Head home. But, uh - thanks again for everything. I really do appreciate it.”

Washington’s face falls - and is that disappointment? He sets his own mug down and leans against the counter, crosses his arms across his chest. He looks at Alex and frowns thoughtfully. “I was going to ask if you’d like to grab breakfast somewhere. My treat, of course. If you need to get going, though - ”

“No, no - “ Alex says a little too fast. He swears he sees Washington smirk, and his cheeks burn. “Breakfast actually - yeah. Breakfast sounds great.”

Washington grins.

“Good,” he says, pushing himself off the counter and carrying their mugs to the sink. “There’s a little place I like right around the corner from here. It’s a beautiful morning, so we can walk. Oh - and I found you a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.”

For once, Alex doesn’t know how to respond. So he says nothing at all, just makes his way back to the bathroom. There’s no way Senator George Washington just asked him on a date. No. That can’t be.

 

* * *

 

They ultimately decide Alex’s sweatshirt smells too much like Calypso’s, so Washington loans him another shirt - this time a gray sweater. Cashmere. Alex tries not to look at the label when he pulls it on but he can’t resist - and, yeah, it’s definitely Brooks Brothers. Like the T-shirt, it’s far too large on him. But it does smells like whatever cologne Washington wears so, really, he’s not about to complain.

“So,” Washington says once they’re seated at the restaurant, more coffee and stacks of buttermilk pancakes in front of them. “You’re obviously a Columbia grad - judging by that sweater you were wearing yesterday. What are you doing here in D.C.?”

“Lots of freelancing,” Alex says, feeling a swell of pride and far less invisible than he felt at the bar the previous night. He stabs a square of pancake and pops it into his mouth. “I mean, I’m a good writer so the work is really steady. But it’s always different so I get to avoid the monotony of a full-time job, you know?” 

Washington’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks genuinely shocked. “You survive in D.C. on a freelancer’s salary?” 

Alex shrugs. “Like I said, the work is really steady and I’m not really in the habit of turning jobs down. I mean, I don’t necessarily have days off, but it’s good. I like it. And I have a few roommates so that obviously helps. What about you? I mean, you’re a senator. Obviously. But I heard you talking to Angelica and Eliza about Virginia - ?”

“That’s where I grew up,” Washington says. “I studied at UVA. Coming to D.C., eventually, only felt natural.”

Alex nods, then finally asks (one of) the questions that’s been nagging at him since last night.

“What were you doing at Calypso’s?” he says. “I mean, you’re like - _you._ Honestly, it’s kind of a trashy place.” 

Washington laughs as he pours more syrup onto his pancakes. It makes those fine lines webbing his eyes stand out, and, seriously - when did that become a thing for him? “What? Just because I’m a senator I can’t have a night out?”

“Sorry - ”

“I’m teasing, Alex,” Washington says kindly. “Calypso’s is just a few blocks away from my place. Sometimes in this world, it’s nice - going somewhere you’re not going to run into anyone you know. Until, well, you do.”

Alex licks a spot of syrup off his upper lip. “Well, you didn’t know me. So that counts for something, right?”

“I think it might.”

Their waiter walks over, and Alex is suddenly thankful for the distraction. Because he’s pretty sure that was vaguely flirtatious, and he truly isn’t sure where to go from here - 

“Just more coffee will do, thank you,” Washington says, and their waiter nods, turns to Alex as he leaves and winks. 

Alex flushes. His messy hair, the way Washington’s oversized sweater pools in his lap - the words are out before he has a chance to censor himself.

“Our waiter definitely thinks we had a one night stand.” He screws his eyes shut the second the words leave his lips. Fuck. Definitely not the direction he wanted to take.

Washington doesn’t laugh - but he doesn’t look upset or annoyed, either. Just rakes his eyes over Alex and shrugs. 

“We had a long night. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Alex opens his mouth to say more - thinks better of it and shoves a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth instead. Washington stays quiet for a moment, but to Alex’s relief it’s not much an awkward silence. They’ve technically only known each other for a few hours - and it’s not that Washington _isn’t_ an intimidating man - but Alex can tell most of it was in his head. He actually seems - kind of sweet?

“Do you miss New York?” Washington asks. “I imagine it’s quite an adjustment.”

Alex lowers his eyes to his nearly-empty plate. “I mean, I grew up there, so it’s always going to be home. But John needed to move here for work and I thought - why not? It’s not really a loneliness thing because John’s friends are great. But, you know - I didn’t grow up in his world. It can be hard to relate sometimes. That’s probably an overshare - sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Washington says, pouring more coffee into Alex’s mug, then his own. “You strike me as a clever young man. You’ll do well here.” A pause. “John is - ?”

“Oh - my roommate. One of them, anyway. We met in college and we’ve been best friends since,” Alex says. “The Laurens family and the Schuylers are kind of tight, I guess. That’s how I met the girls.”

Washington nods. “Henry Laurens’ John, then. Yes - I’ve met Henry a few times.”

Alex shoots him a tight smile. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You all know each other.”

Washington shrugs. “I was a lot like you when I was younger. My family didn’t have a name in D.C., either. But you’ve only been here a few months. Give it time, Alex.”

Alex, momentarily forgetting the loss of his wallet, reaches for the bill when it comes - figures it’s the least he can do for taking over Washington’s apartment for the night. But Washington scoops it up first (“I told you - this is my treat.”) and slides his credit card in the folder without even looking at the damage. 

“I’ll need your number,” Washington says when they walk out to the street corner, searching for a cab. Alex tenses, nearly stops in his tracks, so Washington quickly tacks on - “My sweater. I’ll need it back. It’s a favorite of mine.”

Alex exhales, his hand darting up to touch the collar of the sweater. “Oh - right. Of course.”

He punches his number into Washington’s iPhone, smiles up at him when he hands it back. Washington looks like he wants to say more - but then shakes his head as he steps out into the street and hails Alex a cab. Alex frowns at his back as he rattles off directions to Calypso’s and hands the driver a $20. 

“Thank you again, sir,” Alex says as Washington opens the cab door. He cocks an eyebrow. “Uh - senator?”

“You can just call me George.”

“George,” Alex repeats, sliding into the backseat. Washington closes the door and their eyes meet - just briefly through the window - before the driver speeds away.

 

* * *

 

When Alex finally gets home and plugs his phone into its charger, he has twelve text notifications. Ten are from John - all variations of _“what’s going on?”_ , _“are you OK?”_ and _“coming home tonight????”_

One is from Eliza. _“We made it home safe! Peggy is doing well. Thanks for staying with us tonight.”_

And one is from an unknown number.

_“Alex,_

_It was a pleasure meeting you. You should know I don’t let just anyone leave wearing my favorite clothes. What’s next Friday like for you?_

_-George”_

Alex shoots back a text at lightning speed - doesn’t give himself time to overthink.

_“Is this a date? Or am I totally off here?”_

He throws his phone down on his tiny twin bed like it’s hot coal, paces the room until he hears a _ding_. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way - about anyone, really - 

_“A second date, I’d say. If you’re interested.”_

Alex actually laughs out loud at that - and his stomach is all butterflies as he saves Washington’s - George’s - number into his phone. Gives him something to do instead of texting back seconds later. He waits another minute, maybe two. 

_“Yeah. I’d say I definitely am.”_

And when they meet Friday, Alex thinks he might _accidentally_ forget to bring along the sweater.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr. Come say hi!


End file.
